Alight
by DahliaSheng
Summary: Destiel AU. After a near-fatal encounter with a witch, Dean finds himself unexpectedly bound to a familiar, of all things. (Eventual Dean/Castiel)


_**A/N: This is AU, written to be based off a Tumblr gifset I made.**_

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"Son of a bitch," Dean wheezed, wincing as the rough edges of bricks cut into his back. It burned like _hell_, and he was one-hundred percent certain his jacket was a shredded mess. He clenched his hands, straining, but an invisible force kept him pinned to the wall.

"Dean, Dean, Dean," the woman drawled mockingly, hands on her hips. "You would _not_ believe the amount of trouble you and your brother have caused me." Her bright grey eyes narrowed, lips curling into a scowl. "Didn't your mother teach you to play nicely with girls?"

"Listen here, _Sabrina_," Dean leaned his head forward to continue, but a sharp flick of her hand slammed it back into the wall. Goddamn witches.

"Don't sass me, little boy," she hissed. "Do you know...do you have _any_ idea how long I've been trying to perfect that spell?" She made a slashing movement with her right hand, watching Dean drop heavily back onto the ground. "Ten years. Ten freaking long years of work and you two bumbling idiots come along and ruin it all."

Dean bit back a yell as the witch sent him flying hard into another corner. This time, he felt as well as heard the distinctive crack of ribs breaking. "God, fuck," he hissed under his breath. Sam and Bobby had better hurry their asses up with that sealing spell. He wasn't sure how much longer he could distract this bitch.

"It's enough to give a girl wrinkles!" She stalked over to where the hunter lay, seizing him brutally by the throat.

"Lady," he said hoarsely. "I hate to break it to ya, but I think you're a little late on fixing that." Seriously though? She'd spent a decade working on a spell to drain the youth of people and she expected no one to notice? Witches, man.

"Oh, how quaint," she cooed sarcastically. "The legendary Winchester bravado." Her fingers tightened around his neck. "But you know what? Maybe some good can come from this."

Wait, what. Dean froze, trying to focus. "The hell are you-"

With a grunt, the witch hauled him up. Dean felt a twinge of embarrassment at being thrown around like a rag doll, but in his defense she was packin' some serious black magic mojo.

"Call it a side project," she said flippantly. "A hobby, really." They stopped beside a broad, polished steel table. Unceremoniously, she dumped Dean none-to-gently on top of it. Chains dangled off the edges, and she looped them tightly around his ankles and wrists.

"What, your supernatural Botox didn't keep you busy enough?" His throat hurt like a bitch, and he was sorely feeling those cracked ribs every time he inhaled. But if there was one thing Dean had learned in all his years of hunting, it was that a pissed off baddie was a distracted one.

"Sugar, I never put all my eggs in one basket," she replied sweetly, walking towards a small shelf nearby. "Beauty and brawn, you know."

Dean groaned in frustration, twisting his head about. Jesus, Sam and Bobby were taking their fucking time. At least this bitch sounded like she was gearing up for evil villain monologue mode.

"Cause you know the problem with white magic?" She continued, returning to the table with a thick, leather-bound book in hand. "Too many goddamn rules. Gotta toe the lie, be a little goody-two shoes." He heard the clatter of metal as she rummaged around a small plastic box. "But white magic's got some big guns, I'll give them that. Not that you'd ever be able to use it for anything useful."

"Useful like keeping your boobs from sagging?" Dean managed to smirk winningly up at her despite his bound state. The book she had open between them had to be a grimoire, and he hoped to God she wasn't going to perform from freaky ass curse on him.

"Cute," the witch snapped, drawing out a small knife from her belt. Its blade seemed to be carved out of some lustrous black stone, the handle fashioned from pale bone. "I'll be sure to cut out that tongue of yours and feed it to my cat before I kill you."

Whatever retort Dean had ready was forgotten as she brought the blade up between them. "Spirit of power, heed my call. _Vocavi te. Vos cogam. Ad hoc dicunt sanguinem_."

A scream burst out of Dean's throat as the knife pierced his belly, sinking into flesh and muscle mercilessly. Shit, shit, where the _fuck_ was Sam? He glanced down, pained tears starting to blur his vision. God, he could see the blood-splashed handle protruding from his torso.

"This binding calls for the blood of a righteous man," the witch explained lightly, as if she hadn't just stabbed a man through the stomach. "I suppose you fit the bill." She roughly dipped two slender fingers into the gaping wound, coating them thickly with the blood. He choked back another scream, watching as she quickly drew a bright red circle of runes and symbols around his body.

"Good thing it didn't say virgin," Dean grit out, pulling uselessly at the chains. Fucking hell, but this was the worst plan ever.

She paused, eyes flashing in suspicion. "You're either foolishly brave or completely stupid to be-"

Well, damn. He could see her suddenly put two and two together. Oh hell, the jig was up.

"Your brother," she cursed, abandoning the spellwork. Her eyes whipped around, widening slightly. "A sealing?"

He didn't answer, struggling to stay conscious. His hands were beginning to feel numb, a chilling coldness at his fingertips.

Dean heard her curse, her shoes clicking rapidly across the floor as she fled the room. He hoped Sammy had managed to get everything in place, cause that was one pissed off bitch coming for him. As for Dean, he felt completely exhausted. It was getting harder to stay awake, his eyelids feeling so, so heavy. Wasn't his life supposed to flash before his eyes or something? Dean exhaled slowly, a dry chuckle escaping his lips. Well, as far as deaths go...he supposed it could be worse. Oddly, it was getting warmer. The light, too, was beginning to make his eyes hurt. He tried to focus, wincing at the sluggish response from his body.

A hand, cool and firm, suddenly touched his chest. Dean coughed in surprise, but couldn't find the strength to move. He managed to raise his eyes, blinking against the nearly blinding glow that had abruptly appeared above him. Is this the white light people always talked about?

Instead, his blurring vision beheld a man's face. He supposed it was handsome, but the severe expression the man wore was fiercely intimidating. His eyes, though, immediately caught Dean's attention. Bright and bluer than any gem, they stared at him as though he was an open book. His brain was definitely shutting down now; that was the only explanation for what came out of his mouth next.

"God?"

The man tilted his head to one side, bird-like and slightly confused. "No," he replied, voice deep and gravelly. It was lower in register than he'd expect, the tone serious. "I am not God."

The hand on Dean's chest slid down, hovering over the mortal wound in his stomach. He almost yelped, feeling a flood of heat there that made him sharply nauseous. "What the hell-" And just like that the pain was gone, a quickly evaporating memory.

"But I _am_ here to save you, Dean Winchester."

The words sounded oddly distant in his ears, and Dean found himself drifting gratefully into unconsciousness. He tried to raise his head once more, straining to see who exactly his rescuer was.

Shit, he had to be hallucinating. His last coherent thought was certain on that part, cause there was _no way_ this guy actually had fucking _wings_, of all things.


End file.
